Page 127 of Season Warriors & Wolves

“I know, Kil.”

His lips finally met mine, sucking what little air I had in my lungs. “And that is the only reason why I am alright with it. Now, unless you have something else to tell me, I need you to get some sleep. I beg, my love, catch just a little rest for me, hm? Sleep in my lap if you want, anywhere.”

And so I did.

For him, I tried to endure what came with sleep.

The endless visions that had finally settled back to the original one.

For every time I tried to fight it, to change its course, it showed me someone else dead.

Sometimes him as well.

Mostly him.

Always him.

Death knew how to taunt me.

I’d awoken much rested and with a whole bunch of people standing in our bedroom. I knew why he’d asked me to rest. Apparently, self-discovery really was a journey. Mine was more like a loop around the realm, except it never stopped.

No matter how many times Visha had explained to me the twisted logic between me and healing…the land, I could not grasp whether my witch was losing it or if she’d lost it some time ago and I never noticed.

Oryn set a flower before me, forcing me to look at it. “Have you not noticed at all?”

Greenery did not impress me much. “No. Should I have?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ve been using my magic for years, Oryn, even when I was not supposed to. So why now?”

He pointed a finger to my chest. “The hearth must be warming.”

I looked down. “I assure you it is not.”

“They have sprouted everywhere where you and Kilian have trained,” Nia said. “But they have sprouted somewhere else, too.”

My enemies' graves? That would be so poetic.

“In Isjord,” Elias added. “All over. Mostly around places you’ve been. The castle, training grounds, even in the Isline village where you were taken by the Solaryans. The exact place.”

I yawned, glaring at Kilian who had brought this trick upon me. “And?”

Oryn stepped a little forward. Brave man he was. “Could mean that Isjord is…dying, Your Majesty.”

“My, my, are the odds spinning in my favour?”

The old Crafter cleared his throat and cupped the air with his hands, letting his mauve shadows form a tree. “The whole of Numen is sort of like a…plant. One stem rots, the whole thing will rot. If it has already started, it won’t be long until the rest follows.” Like his words, the mauve began growing black at the roots until it engulfed the whole tree.

“Well, we are trying to fix it, aren’t we? Silas will die shortly and promptly.” I clapped my hands. “Oooh, we could sacrifice him to the land.”

“Sacrifices are legends,” Atlas chimed in, raising a hand. “Your…Your Majesty.”

“Silas might have watered the rot, but it is not because of him that he has spread,” Oryn continued. “It is not how it works.”

“He means to say that faith is weak,” Elias explained.

I tilted my head to my Crafter. “Who got your tongue, Visha?”